


Hands

by Moreena



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Future Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/pseuds/Moreena
Summary: Quatre needs to talk to Trowa, but how does he find the words to tell him...?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from a gif I was tagged in on Tumblr. My response. I feel horrible for writing this.

Quatre had been quiet ever since he’d gotten home. Trowa had noticed, but what did he say? There were just some days that were bad, and Quatre needed to be alone. Needed silence and to just sit and stare out the window from their couch, watching the lights of the city below them. Trowa made a simple dinner of pasta and warm vegetables and set a bowl down on the coffee table. He was so in tune with Quatre’s moods that he just… He knew that this one was different. Between the stony silence and Quatre barely touching his food, there was something truly eating away at his little lover.

The blonde was aware of everything that was going on. Trowa had asked how his day was when he’d walked in the door. All Quatre had said was that it had been bad. Then he’d locked himself in the bathroom and sat under the shower spray, the water so hot it was turning his skin red. The pounding of the water on the tile and the rooms of distance between himself and the brunette were the only reason that Quatre let himself go. 

He sat on the floor of the shower, water cascading on his head while he sobbed. Huge, body racking sobs that rattled him to his core. He’d pulled his knees to his chest and just let everything out. Yes, he’d have to tell Trowa. The sooner the better, but he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to shatter the idyllic life they’d carved out after the war for themselves. He ran a company, and Trowa worked with the rest of the guys for Preventers. They had an apartment together. Were thinking about adopting a puppy together for when one of them was gone, so the other wouldn’t be alone. How did he even tell Trowa?!

When his skin felt too raw to even touch, every nerve singing with temporary pain, Quatre shut off the water and gently patted himself dry, looking at himself both in the mirror, and at his body. He didn’t look different, didn’t look like… Still, seeing his own body made him shiver with revulsion. Made him want to kneel on the floor next to the toilet and retch until there was nothing left in his system but bile, and he was a limp shell. He wanted to flay himself open and cut out every piece of himself. Remove it all so he could start fresh, scrape away every fiber and be a new being. He slipped on a pair of sleep pants and a thick sweater, wanting to be comforted, to be warm. It seemed like since it had happened, he was always cold. Always shivering and unable to get warm. Only the shower had helped him.

At some point, he did have to face the music, so he’d left the bathroom and sat on the couch. Staring out the large picture window at the city below them. They lived on the outskirts of the city in a small house, set up on a hill. It gave them breathtaking views year-round, and all day. Any time of day was a good day to just get lost in what was going on below. Quatre loved to sit there with a mug of coffee and just gaze. Now though, he stared, unblinking. Not seeing, too lost in his own head to appreciate the night.

Trowa set his dinner down, knew that he wanted solitude. That was why he loved him. They knew one another better than an open book. Quatre knew when Trowa had a bad day, how to fix it, when to leave him alone or get involved and bring him out of his own head. Just like Trowa knew that Quatre needed to work through his own head, and that the blonde would open up when he was ready. Tonight, he wasn’t hungry and his food sat growing cold on the table in front of him. That had to be worrying Trowa. Had to be eating at him that Quatre was so far down in his own mental anguish that he couldn’t even take care of himself.

It was late when Trowa finally approached him. He’d taken away the uneaten food and had turned on the lamp, bathing the couch area in a soft glow. The shadows ate at the rest of the room, promising and haunting all at the same time. Beautiful and fragile in their own right. So easy to make vanish, or to grow. Like human life.

“Quatre. Babe. What’s going on?” Trowa asked, perching on the coffee table, hands loosely clasped between his knees, the watch Quatre had bought last year for his birthday glinting on his wrist, the leather band well-worn.

Hearing the hurt, the desperation in his voice tugged at Quatre. Made him regret not saying anything. Made Quatre wish he was stronger, could have just told him as soon as he walked in the door and dropped his bag. Trowa deserved better than that though. He deserved a conversation. A thought out, adult discussion.

“I… We need to talk,” he finally managed to say, voice no more audible than a whisper.

He could barely find his voice to say that. How on earth could he tell Trowa what he’d found out? What had happened. How did he find the strength of voice to tell him? What words did he say to get his point across in the gentlest way possible? Trowa sat there, emerald gaze soft and concerned, a minute tremble to his hands. Now Quatre knew how nervous he was. Trowa never let his emotions out like that. It was horrid. And, it was Quatre’s fault. It tore at his heart, made his face crumple as he sat there across from his lover, his partner. Trowa looked lost, like he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

“Trowa… I…” He paused to find breath, wishing there was an easier way to do this. Wishing there was an easier way to tell Trowa what was happening to him, and why.

“I had an appointment today. Doctor. Remember when I just blacked out a few weeks ago? I finally got into see the doctor. And… It’s not good,” he managed to spit out, fingers loosely curled.

“I’m dying, Trowa. Dying, and there’s not much they can do for me,” he finally said, head hung low, breaking the eye contact he’d held.

“H-how…?”

“Genetic, is all I know. Piloting and everything my body has been put through exacerbated the condition, and has put me into stages so late, that they can’t fix it. At this point, only a heart transplant can save me.”

His voice trailed off, the tears he’d thought finished in the shower re-appearing in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks silently. Trowa didn’t say anything, and Quatre couldn’t bring himself to look. Didn’t want to see the pain and anguish on his face or in his heart. Trowa reached out, hands now visibly shaking, hesitating as he reached for his lover. He was timid, gentle, as he touched just the back of Quatre’s hand at first, as if that simple touch would break Quatre into a million shards. His other hand came up, gently cupping Quatre’s smaller hands in his own. Reassuring and frightened all at once. Just like Quatre, he didn’t know what to say or do. The reality was too harsh, too bright and caustic for their simple lives.

“We’ll… We’ll figure this out,” Trowa managed to murmur, his own heart almost stilling in his chest as he spoke.

They both knew it was a pretty lie. A falsehood to try and dull the harsh truth. That Trowa needed Quatre just as much as Quatre needed Trowa. A lie to instill hope, and to tell Quatre that Trowa was just as lost, just as unsure. Would he stay? Would he want to watch Quatre so full of potential and life slowly waste away and become a hollow shell? Or would he want to run as far away as possible, and leave Quatre to waste away, alone and only loved from a distance, for who he once was?

“Just… Hold me tonight. Please. I want one more night as just us, before we have to face the truth in broad daylight,” Quatre pleaded, voice thick with tears and desperation.

Nodding, Trowa stood and helped Quatre stand, leading him to their bedroom. They undressed and climbed into bed, Trowa spooned behind Quatre, one arm over his waist, pinning the blonde. Pinning him tightly with a hand over his heart, Quatre’s back firmly pressed to Trowa’s chest so he could feel and see each breath, so he knew that Quatre was still alive for the night. The future would start in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://moonsandrock.tumblr.com/)


End file.
